These colours don't run.

Diplomacy
just doesn't work you see.
When you're dealing with
such an extremity
Because their war is a war
on humanity.
Preemptively, speaking,
a strike is the option.
Which gives us dues
of creativity.

Because we're different races
different faces.
Our insides are rearranged
in opposite places.
We'll win all of this,
and keep the death on their soil.
They fight for blood.
We, for blood and oil.

So if it returns and stars getting you down.
Just pretend you're not hearing the sounds.
Of holes being punched on voters cards.
Or our holy cause exchanging machine gun rounds.

One day those animals might all see.
The flaws of their sac religious ideology.
And D.C. will continue,
to let god run the country.
Red, white and blue.
Blood, shit and money.

(OLD) "Ssssserpentile, the Brave"

With the threat of a grave we folded our bodies like paper.
One hundred bones breaking
each time we tried to show the world what a mountain looks like.

And remember we were walking and we saw a bridge
that had been torn down to build one up stronger,
or add to the city's degree of pride
in their material accomplishments,
I promise you this is nothing like that.
Eden,
she has escaped a stare,
and the tendency of eyes to glare into her direction.
Dissemblance,
an empty heart should not be wasted.
But the places we've thrown ourselves
have been rough ground
where not even the lies grow as time continues.
Dissemblance,
I looked for you in a Birch wood forest,
but couldn't find you among the white.
It used to be the only color I would look for you,
since I couldn't picture you in anything,
besides a wedding dress,
or standing anywhere,
except behind a picket fence,
kind of leaning on it.
But now I look for the color of blood,
and that bridge we saw,
well you're more likely to be leaning on something like that.
Dissemblance.

Gravel.

I saw a diamond on a beach, in a pile of gravel.
An extreme of the stone's attempt to sparkle
even in the sun.
But the way she spun light into attention
and filled in grateful vision.
She was as bright as a star.
And as humble as a raincloud.
I wore her a ring on my finger,
and never touched my heart.
I kept my hand near my mouth,
and spoke to the diamond with words.
It disappeared one night, while I slept.
I woke up and my finger no longer stole
my speech as it had the day before.
On the beach in a pile of gravel.
A pile of stones.
I can no longer find it in a pile of stones.
Perhaps the diamond was gravel.
But she twinkled.
Oh how it twinkled.